


three rows of eyes

by zanykingmentality



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Main Character Gender Unspecified, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Sort of hurt/comfort, too much descriptive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: [ The story doesn't end until you say so. ]





	three rows of eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niqo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niqo/gifts).



> guess who's back after a hUGE WRITER'S BLOCK 
> 
> ok basically, i first want to dedicate this to my friend niqo, without whom i likely wouldn't have been able to get my ass up and start writing this. so thanks niqo pal love u. secondly, i started this to be a tiny drabble-type thing abt feelings but i just kept writing and suddenly it was 1000 words long nbd. and i was like u know what would be great? chrobin. so it is chrobin.
> 
> as usual, unbeta-d but spellchecked, so forgive my mistakes. enjoy~

You stare down at three pairs of eyes, at purple smoke curling in tendrils around your feet. You look at your doppelganger and think, _I’ll see you in Hell_. The sounds of fighting and the clashing of swords echoes around you, behind you, but you stand strong: focused on _your_ task, _your_ mission. At some point, it might have been to revive the fell dragon. But things have changed from how they were supposed to be. _You_ have changed.

Grima raises a hand, palm facing you. You can hear Chrom’s voice shouting orders as he struggles through the swarm of Risen to get to you. You can’t let him get close enough to strike the final blow on Grima. You won’t let him. This is your burden, and you wear it with pride, with anxiety. It is your death sentence, your lonely guillotine sitting in the center of the square. This is your moment in the center of the arena, your final breath, your thumbs-down. Your penalty.

Penalty for what? You close your eyes briefly ― never a smart thing to do in the heat of battle. You almost don’t care. The emotions swell up in you: anger, fear, love, _peace_. You’ve been searching for peace this whole time, in the in-between time you spent as Chrom’s right-hand tactician, in the middle of war. And as you lift your spellbook, you wonder what death feels like. Is it painful? Is it peaceful? Is it like sitting in the middle of nothing, waiting for judgement that will never come?

You shake away thoughts like that and face Grima again, your eyes locking onto their six. The eyes that opened over their cheeks ― _your_ cheeks. _You have stolen my face,_ you think, almost viciously. _It’s my turn now. Checkmate._ Electricity crackles at your fingertips, your lips parting to mouth the words to the Thoron incantation. You don’t believe in destiny, but somehow you think if this is what Naga intended, you are willing, for once, to go along with the expectations of you. It doesn’t matter if you are considered a hero, it doesn’t matter if the history books will forget your name. What matters to you is that Grima is _gone_ , decimated, sent somewhere into the far reaches of death so as to never emerge again. _That_ is your wish.

Chrom’s voice, so distant only seconds ago, is now in your ear, breathing down your neck. “You _can’t_.” You almost jump; Thoron dies at your lips.

“I have to.”

“ _Please_ , Robin. I can’t lose you, not like I…” He trails off, knowing you had expected this. Emmeryn’s death had hurt him gravely, and you don’t want him to go through any more pain. But you can’t leave the world at risk.

“Your descendents will remember the sacrifices you made” is all you say, before shoving him away, flipping open the spellbook once again and shouting Thoron. You let your grief carry in your voice, in the electricity crackling around your hands, your legs. The lightning that engulfs you. It’s amazing you could speak so calmly to Chrom, whose eyes are wide; he’s screaming, a horrible, gut-wrenching scream that could carry throughout the entire world and force it to feel his anguish. Your stomach lurches and you feel guilt settle into the base of your throat. You shout around it, the incantation pulling magic from your lips, from everything you have. You pour all of you into the spell; all your grief, your guilt, your pain, your rage. You raise a hand, palm facing Grima, your doppelganger, _you_ ― and fire.

It’s almost in slow motion. You watch the electricity shoot through Grima’s ragged form, piercing it. You can feel the surge of elation you get from magic, the thing that makes you love it, the thing that makes it so fascinating. Grima’s cloak is torn in several spots; it falls off and flies away in the wind as Grima falls. Your knees buckle and you stumble over your own feet, crashing to the ground.

Chrom cuts down a Risen lunging for him, whirling around to face you faster than you thought humanly possible. “ _Robin!_ ”

“Chrom…” you murmur, his name familiar on your tongue. Names have feelings, and you feel your heart twist at his broken eyes, the downset curve of his frown, the sound of his name in your voice. You want to reach out and pull his lips up into the grin you’ve come to know so well, but all you manage to do is poke at the side of his mouth.

His hand comes up to grip yours. You focus on the warmth of his fingers clenched around yours, and how his hand fits into yours like it was meant to be, like two pieces of a puzzle that aren’t part of the same set, but fit together anyway. Like two halves of a whole heart.

You don’t believe in destiny. You _don’t_.

“ _Robin_ ,” he gasps; his voice is hoarse and wobbly. “ _No_. Not like this. _No no no no_.”

“Smile,” you mumble. “We won.”

“ _I_ didn’t. I lost! I’m losing you! Without you, I can’t… I don’t…” You’ve seen Chrom break down before, but somehow it’s worse, this time. He pulls your head into his lap and you both watch your legs glow blue and drift away. Panic rises in your throat but you push it down, shove it into a compartment that you’ll think about after you’re gone, if you can think when you’re gone. Far away, Grima’s body bursts into dust that floats as the wind blows, carrying the dragon’s remains through the world. Maybe Grima will see what they tried to destroy. Maybe they’ll learn remorse and finally experience life, only after they’ve died. Or maybe they’re just dead, and you just want to hope for a happier ending.

You almost can’t breathe as you watch the blue engulf your legs. “Tell the others my last thoughts were of them,” you say, deliberately, as clearly as you can.

“Robin, _no_. You’re going to survive this, alright? Naga said… the strength of our bonds, they _have_ to mean something!” Chrom’s desperate, grasping for straws. You don’t want him to see the panic in your eyes, but you grip his cheek and force him to look at you.

“Chrom, _please_.” You try to keep your breathing steady, _gods_ , you _try_. You try because it’s all you can do, all you can think to do when your mind is racing a mile a minute and thinking of all the things you must have forgotten, all the things you never finished. You never told Lucina that she was the strongest woman you’d ever met, never sorted the books piling up around your desk in the castle, never held the newly-born baby Owain. Never told Chrom what he meant to you, what he did for you, how the feeling of his hand in yours was all you thought you’d ever need. You think of all the things you regret and all the things you don’t, like the fireworks festival in the interim between wars, and the smell of parchment and Chrom’s legs entangled with yours as you read a report.

Chrom’s voice hardens, still laced with desperation, but something _more_. Anger. “Fight back! You have to keep fighting!”

You close your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, lazily. The sun is rising. Its rays frame Chrom’s face like a halo, like he’s a god lifting you up with his warmth, his care. You can feel his breath against your lips as your breaths get slower and slower, and more of you is gone. There are tears in his eyes, sparkling drops of crystalline salt-water that glitter in the early morning light. You think it’s funny that this is your last sunrise, with the man you’ve sworn to protect with your life.

“Fight _back_ , Robin!” His tears don’t fall but you can hear his voice straining, against his emotions and his tired, tired vocal chords. “You swore to do so, remember? Now keep your _damn_ word!”

You lift a dissipating hand and rest it on his cheek. With all of your remaining strength you sit up and press your mouth against his jaw. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and you think how nice it would be to sit here with your mouth against his, close your eyes and let go. Tears start dripping down his face and you taste them as they slide across his cheeks.

“May we meet again,” you breathe against his face, “in a better life.”

All you see is blue: turquoise as you drift away into the sky, the roar of a heartbroken man, and hair the color of deep-sea ocean.

There’s more you wish for, but above all, you wish for another chance, another Chrom. Another life with him.

You go like a butterfly. Softly. Quietly. Beautifully.

_I’ll see you in Hell_. Checkmate.


End file.
